


you'll be keeping it together (wondering if I'm alright)

by Kalgalen



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (a bit), M/M, Unhealthy Dynamics, description of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:37:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgalen/pseuds/Kalgalen
Summary: He rings at Kepler’s door, and understands something is wrong the moment the door opens. Kepler’s entire stance is stiff, as if the invisible ties keeping him together might unknot if he dared move too much. His skin is ashen, and the eyes he fixes upon Jacobi are burning in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with arousal.





	you'll be keeping it together (wondering if I'm alright)

**Author's Note:**

> ~~(wow i can't believe i used song lyrics to name a fic)~~ title from keeping it together by fyfe, idea from Discussions w/ @intearsaboutrobots

He gets the message at 2A.M. - which, you know, isn’t that much of a problem since he wasn’t asleep and just busy nursing a cup of coffee while watching Mythbusters reruns, but it doesn’t mean he’s particularly happy to be contacted at this hour of the night.

It’s from Kepler. There’s only one word: “Come.”

And that’s one hell of a good reason to move. Jacobi’s at the door and putting on his coat before he’s even realized what he’s doing, and stops himself for a instant to think about why he’s obeying without a second thought to an order that came in the middle of the night. Alana’s voice whispers at the back of his mind, sounding worried -  _“You can say no, you know”_  - but he shrugs it away. You simply don’t say no to your very hot, very scary boss when he sends you that kind of message,  _come on_ , Alana, he’s just human.

It’s not a very long car ride, especially with the streets dark and mostly empty, but Jacobi can feel the nervousness building up in his stomach. Not fear - he  _wants_  this, no doubt about that - but not quite eagerness either. A twisted mix of the two, maybe, intoxicating for reasons he doesn’t want to examine at the moment.

He rings at Kepler’s door, and understands something is wrong the moment the door opens. Kepler’s entire stance is stiff, as if the invisible ties keeping him together might unknot if he dared move too much. His skin is ashen, and the eyes he fixes upon Jacobi are burning in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with arousal.

“Ah, Jacobi,” he says, a tightness in his voice -  _pain_ , Jacobi guesses - as he pushes the door open further. “Come in.”

He steps away from the doorway to let Jacobi in instead of just walking into the house and letting Jacobi follow him, and that’s another unusual thing to add to the list. Jacobi stands awkwardly on the doormat, unsure what script to follow as the usual very obviously doesn’t fit tonight.

“You… wanted me to come here?” he prompts, and Kepler makes a face.

“Yeah. Let’s- go to the living room.”

He doesn’t make a move to follow his own instruction, and after a few uncomfortable moments Jacobi mechanically hangs his coat on the coat hanger and starts in direction of the living room, feeling Kepler pad after him.

He begins to understand what’s going on when he sees the first aid kit on the coffee table, and throws a suspicious glance at Kepler, who tries to hold it for a second before looking away and sitting on the couch.

“I,” he says cautiously, stapling his fingers together, “have found myself in need of some, hm, assistance.”

Jacobi crosses his arms and stares at him silently. He  _knows_  what kind of things his superior gets up to with some other people - with one of them, at least, possibly the scariest person he’s ever met - and it’s  _fine_ , he’s not  _jealous_ , but if these encounters necessitate goddamn  _medical support_ then they are a solid cause for concern. Not that he’d dare voice that aloud; he’ll just glower very disapprovingly instead.

“Alright,” he says, trying and probably failing to keep the distaste out of his voice, “What do you need me to do?”

In response, Kepler unbuttons his shirt - slowly, reluctantly. He winces when he shrugs it off, but Jacobi is too busy taking in the horrifying number of cuts and gashes scattered across Kepler’s abdomen-chest-shoulders to appreciate the rare display of weakness.

“What the  _fuck_  happened?” he blurts out, dropping his arms at his sides to fall on his knees in front of Kepler, reaching for the wounds but stopping right before his fingers come into contact with the abused skin.

“None of your concern,” Kepler answers sullenly. “Those aren’t the problem, anyway. Just patch up my back.”

Jacobi doesn’t like the sound of that. He gets up and grabs the first aid kit, settling on the couch beside Kepler, and Kepler turns his back to him.

Jacobi swears.

The razor-thin cuts are nothing compared to the mess now displayed in front of him. There are letters carved into the flesh as if it were treebark - lines steady, assured, proving that whoever did this knew what they were doing and not one bit hesitant about the whole thing. Most of the letters are paired with one another, Jacobi notices once he’s past the initial shock: AK, WC, JH, MN, CK, WF, a longer RWN-

\- and bigger, bolder, right between Kepler’s shoulder blades: MC.

Jacobi feels- he feel angry. How can Kepler let himself be treated this way? Literally marked like  _cattle?_  He- alright, he understands the feeling of usefulness, of  _completion_ that comes from submitting fuly to someone, but that’s going way too far.

“Are you going to let that happen again?” he asks, voice low. Kepler tenses up.

“I don’t think I made you come here so you could give me life advice,  _Mister_ Jacobi,” he bites out.

Jacobi shrugs, and opens the first aid kit. “Well, I’m here now, and you know I’m bad at shutting up when I’m doing something I don't enjoy, so I guess we’re both gonna have to suck it up.”

Kepler doesn’t answer anything to that, and Jacobi gets to work, pulling on surgical gloves and rummaging into the kit. He dabs disinfectant over the torn flesh and tries not to feel sorry for his boss when it obviously causes him discomfort; some of the cuts are still bleeding, and Jacobi presses a clean cloth on them for a few minutes until the flow stops before applying an antiseptic ointment on them. Dressing the wounds turns out to be a challenge, given how large is the area to cover, but he manages with a minimal amount of pained signs from Kepler.

“I wish you could stop doing that,” Jacobi mutters as he removes the gloves and cleans up the remnants of the intervention. Kepler fumbles to put his shirt back on, the blood staining it a sharp reminder of what’s underneath.

“Stop doing what?” Kepler says, cold in a way that promises fire and brimstones if Jacobi pushes the issue.

Jacobi, however, has decided he can take a bit of divine wrath if it means never having to do that ever again.

“That thing you’ve got going on with Cutter! I mean, it’s one thing to let him- tie you up, or whatever,” and the image leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but he continues: “- but you gotta see that this-” he gestures at the bloody gauze on the ground, and spits out: “This is too much. One day he’s going to kill you, and I’m not going to be here to help.”

He realizes his poor choice of words when Kepler stands up, ramrod straight, and turns an icy glare on him.

“You’re overestimating the value of your presence,” he says, tone steely. “I don’t need your help.”

Jacobi gets up too, but even standing full height it’s hard to feel intimidating in front of Kepler’s tall frame.

“Oh, yeah, obviously. That’s why you called me, right? Because you didn’t need  _help._ ”

“I could have called someone else!”

“Like who? One of the many colleagues you get along with? One of your  _friends?_ ”

And, yeah, that was mean, that was too far, and Jacobi is ready to discover that looks can kill as Kepler stares at him with a level of hostility he rarely saw directed at anyone, him least of all.

“I think,” Kepler says - polar, now, a solid block of contempt standing strong against Jacobi’s desperate concern - “I think you should leave now. I think we should never mention this again.”

Jacobi’s shoulders drop when he understands there’s nothing he could say now that could break down that wall, so he just throws his hands up.

“Okay. Alright. Have it your way.”

Kepler escorts him back to the door and watches him put his coat back on without a word. Jacobi hesitates when he grabs the handle of the door, and turns to Kepler.

“Listen, I’m… I know you don’t like hearing that kind of things, but I’m _worried_ , alright? Please. If it- if it happens again, call me.  _Please._ ”

Kepler’s stare wavers slightly, and he looks away.

“Good night, Jacobi.”

Well. That’s as good as he’s going to get, he guesses.

“Good night, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello on my tumblr if you want (same great name same great taste) & take a look at my tag for that au (butterfly kisses au. bc it's a butterfly knife gettit i'm hilarious)


End file.
